Saving the Day
by swifters
Summary: Danny thinks Steve has some kind of superhero complex. Maybe he does, but sometimes it's just really, really hard to make things right no matter how hard you try. A multi-chapter short story. DANNY WHUMP, STEVE ANGST, BROMANCE.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This is unbeta'd and no doubt riddled with errors.**

 **It was intended to be a Christmas one-shot, then a New Year one shot… now it's a Jan 2nd multi-chapter short story. Whoops! The muse ain't co-operating like she used to.**

 **I was NOT expecting the lovely gift from ECT (THANK YOU so much again) that materialized earlier (WHAT a story it is- adjust your filters to 'M' to enjoy it!) and I hesitate to say this is one back as I know she favors slash and this one is bromance, but I HAD to give her something back right away!**

 **Call this a holding gift for ECT and I may do a different version over on the other channel in the fullness of time...**

 **Disclaimer: Still not mine. Alas.**

 **Warnings: Sickening levels of angst and bromance. Violence. swearing. The usual.**

 _…_

SAVING THE DAY

 _"Why you gotta be Superman every single minute of every single day, huh? Can't you just watch sports in your underwear on a Saturday like a_ normal _person for once?_ "

Danny's snark, aimed at him just a day earlier, replayed in Steve's head as he walked along the brightly lit corridor, eyes logging the ascending room numbers. He could kick himself, because if he had pushed Danny to join him, if they had headed to the hills together, maybe this wouldn't be happening at all.

Not that anything was confirmed as having happened anyway, he reminded himself, ignoring the sick feeling in his gut.

 _"Given I'm going rock-climbing, Spiderman would be a more appropriate superhero than Superman, don't you think, Danno?"_ Steve had protested light-heartedly, piling equipment in his backpack as he spoke, cell wedged between shoulder and ear.

" _Yeah, whatever. You're a doofus, Steven._ _You go play whatever superhero you feel the need to play in order to use up all the excess adrenaline your ridiculous body continues to produce even when there's no bad guy to be pursued at two hundred miles an hour, most likely in my car, and in fact no day requiring saved whatsoever for that matter. I'm tired, so thank you for the kind invitation, but on this occasion I'll pass. I'll see you tomorrow._ "

And that unremarkable phone call had been it. For once Steve _hadn't_ pestered Danny until he gave in- the blond man _had_ looked real tired when they'd knocked off Friday night. They'd been working a bastard of a case for weeks, only to have it poached from them by the CIA (with the new governor's damn backing no less) just as they finally pulled together enough evidence to move in on their one and only suspect, Mr Aubrey Henshall.

Danny had put everything he had into the investigation and he'd been rightfully pissed off, frustrated and exhausted. He had earned a quiet day in his underpants.

So Steve had headed off into the Koolau Mountain Range with Chin instead, to hike and climb and burn off his own frustrations. It had been fun, for all Steve had missed Danny's company. He always missed his cantankerous partner when the man wasn't about, not that he'd ever tell him that. They fought like little kids, and he loved every second of it.

Locating the room number he'd been directed to, Steve hesitated in the doorway, staring at the curtained off area just inside. He took a deep, shaky breath. This was stupid. He shouldn't be feeling scared, his heart shouldn't be pounding in his chest like it was trying to break out through his ribs. The broken John Doe behind there _wouldn't_ be his partner, he _knew_ that. Danny wasn't lying in some hospital bed in a coma. Nothing had happened to him while Steve had been gallivanting in the hills. He was _fine_.

Sure, they didn't know where he was, but he wasn't _missing_ \- they had barely even begun to look for him, that was all. They just hadn't found him yet.

The fateful call had come direct from HPD precisely thirty-three minutes earlier, when Steve had been busy wiping the leaves of his cheese plant with cotton wool soaked in milk- Chin's suggestion- and they were coming up real nice. Expecting a case when he saw the number, Steve had been left gaping in disbelief as Duke Lukela had explained the situation. An officer had been dispatched to take fingerprints from a John Doe at Tripler, apparently. That was a routine thing, it was no big deal.

But then the prints had come back as Danny's.

It was bull, it was some fuck-up- no _way_ would it be Danny! Yes, Danny's cell was off and non-functioning which was admittedly weird… and no, he wasn't at his house even though the Camaro was parked right out front- Steve had stopped to check on his way past when he hadn't answered his phone. But that didn't mean the John Doe was him- they hadn't scratched the surface yet, hadn't checked with Grace or Melissa, hadn't gone to the stores Danny used or the places he liked to go when he was on his own. Sometimes the guy just went out for a walk to clear his head- it was probably as simple as that!

And yeah, he hadn't replied to the text Steve had sent earlier on. Or the one he'd sent last night for that matter. But maybe he forgot to charge his phone. Maybe he _broke_ it. Maybe he lost it down the back of the sofa and it had gone dead. There were plenty of reasonable explanations that didn't necessitate jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

Anyway, Danny was due at Steve's later that evening for a game of poker with the guys. He'd be there as promised- he was bringing the beer after all, it was his turn and he never let Steve down. Ever.

They would laugh about this then take time to feel sorry for the guy in the bed, whoever it really was. Then they'd investigate tomorrow if HPD hadn't cracked the case already. Find out who had dumped the beaten body at the side of the Kunia Road, and who had made the anonymous call that summoned the EMTs. The guy would already be dead otherwise, poor bastard.

Steve yanked back the curtain, _knowing_ it wouldn't be Danny.

 _It was Danny._

For all he was barely recognizable beneath medical equipment and damaged flesh, Steve still knew him in an instant. His face was swollen and distorted, his hair dark with dry, crusted blood. No wonder nobody on the medical staff had realized who he was when he'd been brought in two hours earlier, for all he'd been here any number of times before for one reason or another.

"Danny…" Steve choked. Finding himself at his partner's side with no recollection of moving, he reached out a trembling hand to touch a bruised arm. "Danny… no. _Fuck_. Wh-what _happened_ to you, buddy?!"

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the feedback, everyone. Makes me smiiiile.**

 **Guest who asked the Q (why is it always guests who ask Q's? Get an account so we can PM!)- by 'the other channel' I meant Archive of our Own- the other big FF site. Some of us post stuff there too. Their rules are less strict and the audience is different. Partly at least.**

 **Anyhoo...**

 **CHAPTER 2**

 _He was so confused. His mind was looping out of control and it seemed like this hell had been going on forever. He couldn't breathe! Choking, suffocating, rank water filled his mouth, his nose. He couldn't breathe!_

 _It went on and on and on and his vision went red and his body was convulsing and he could hear his own heart pounding desperately... but nothing else, nothing at all. The red faded to black and God, he was going to die this time, this was it!_ _Then the pressure on his face lifted. He jerked forwards in his bonds, gagging and retching and gasping for air._

 _A calm voice penetrated the fog, ringing eerily around the inside of his skull. "You_ _ready to tell me yet, Detective Williams?"_

 _Danny's face screwed up as he shook his head stubbornly, because he_ couldn't _tell, so he already knew what was going to happen next. Sure enough, his head was yanked backwards and the cloth was there again and the water was pouring over it again and the air was gone again._

 _He couldn't tell… so he was going to die. He didn't want to die._

…..

The cloth Steve was using was damp, not soaking wet, so he could clean his partner up without making too much mess.

After Max had finished up taking the photos and scrapings and samples they needed, Steve had offered to do this, desperately needing to undertake a constructive task but unable to consider leaving Danny's side. Not yet. The medical staff had allowed it. They knew him, understood the partners' relationship, knew Steve's training as a frontline medic, and gave him more leeway than an ordinary member of the public might be afforded.

Starting on his partner's left side, he systematically wiped down Danny's battered body from his head to the tips of his toes. Avoiding dressings and tubes with the utmost care, he kept his touch feather light, the pressure just enough to tease away the encrusted dirt and dried blood that remained and no more.

This level of physical intimacy could have felt strange, but it didn't. It felt appropriate, doing this for his best friend. As Danny's next of kin, Steve might have been able to give permission for the intrusive but necessary process of evidence gathering they had just carried out, but it left him feeling like he owed his partner an apology of sorts for subjecting him to the humiliating process without his knowledge or consent. Removing what he could of the vestiges of Danny's ordeal was the least he could do.

He paused in his ministrations long enough to ghost a finger down the long scar that ran southwards from Danny's sternum, physical testament to the fact that the man had once allowed himself to be cut wide open just to save Steve's life.

His breath caught in his throat. He couldn't lose Danny. It was killing him that he couldn't fix this, couldn't turn back time and prevent it happening. Couldn't wave a magic wand and make Danny okay again. Guilt was eating at him. Danny had been hauled to the brink of death while Steve, who was supposed to have his back, was off in the hills 'playing superheroes', as Danny had put it, with Chin. It was illogical, he knew that- it wasn't like they were joined at the hip- but still, he felt the way he felt. He should have been there.

Shaking his head at himself, he finished up, patting the last inch of skin dry and pulling the sheet back over the unconscious man.

He moved round to the other side of the bed to repeat the process on the other half of Danny's body. Reaching for a clean cloth, he began to work on the swollen face, cursing softly under his breath because the strap holding the breathing tube in place had a little dried blood ingrained beneath it. Carefully, carefully, he moved it by the slightest amount to get to every last flake.

The silence was deafening, because Danny was never quiet. Steve found himself filling it out of necessity.

"Hey, remember when you told me about that crazy guy you dealt with back when you were a beat cop in New Jersey? The one who'd tied all those garbage cans to the clothes line in his yard, then tried to attack you with a plastic sword?" Steve snorted with mirth, eyes never straying from his task.

Danny didn't respond to him, of course.

"Well I don't know why," Steve continued undeterred, "but every time I see that dick Agent Franks I get a replay of the same image I got in my head of Garbage Can Guy back when you told me that story. I wonder if Franks has a clothes line. What do you think he'd tie to it?"

Probably the heads of any of the Five-0 team, the way the total bastard had been talking earlier. You would think they were personally responsible for sabotaging the CIA's plans for keeping the star witness against Henshall safe until the elusive bad guy was rounded up. In actual fact there was no evidence the plans had been sabotaged at all, not yet, but when the news about Danny had reached the hallowed halls of the Honolulu CIA office, assumptions had been made and conclusions jumped to.

The CIA weren't interested in the attack on Danny in itself. They had their own shadowy agenda and Danny's condition didn't even register on their give-a-shit scale. There was only one thing about Danny that concerned them.

" _Right now, we have to assume it was Aubrey Henshall who took him and we have to assume Detective Williams broke under interrogation,_ " Agent Franks and had ranted at Steve over the phone. " _We have to assume Henshall now knows the identity of our witness against him and the location of the safe-house where we have her._ "

"What?! Why the fuck should we assume any of that?!" Steve had growled back defensively, a stark fury automatically rising. "Right now we have no idea who did this! For starters, we know Henshall's forensically aware and there was any amount of trace evidence left on my partner- this just doesn't fit his MO! And anyway, even if it _was_ Henshall, who says Danny broke?!"

Agent Franks had laughed- he had actually laughed out loud at the very suggestion- and Steve had wanted to punch him real, real bad.

" _Look_ ," the CIA guy had said, " _until we know otherwise, we assume it was Henshall. And we know your man talked for the simple reason that he's not dead, McGarrett. He's only_ almost _dead. Henshall doesn't make mistakes. He dumped him without putting a bullet in his brain. I wondered about the head injury- thought he'd tried to put Williams down that way instead… but no. Henshall has his MO and only one thing could make him deviate from that. Your man broke and gave him everything he needed. He's damn lucky he wasn't executed anyway- he must have sung like a canary to get a reprieve like that._ "

The words had left Steve physically trembling with rage and he had sworn vehemently at Franks before cutting the call dead… but the hideous thing was that some of it rang true because here Danny was, all beat to hell but with a chance of surviving.

When he'd first been admitted to the ER they had thought he'd been in a car wreck- that was how severe his injuries were. He was cut and bruised from head to foot, he had broken bones and a gaping wound on his forehead which overlay a compression fracture of the skull- the swelling associated with which was primarily responsible for his current comatose state.

But then they'd found the rope burns on his wrists and his ankles. The deep, evenly spaced knife wounds on his arms. The missing back teeth, the water in his lungs. He hadn't just been in a car wreck, or a fight- he'd been systematically tortured. At least there had been no overt evidence of sexual assault. That was a small positive in a veritable ocean of negative.

Steve hated that it looked like Danny had been water-boarded, because Steve hated having that done to him more than anything- it messed with your head- and now Danny knew exactly what it was like first hand.

If it _was_ Aubrey Henshall- Five-0's only suspect for the callous murders of five homeless men- who had done this, Steve was going to kill him personally when they finally got hold of the slippery bastard. If the CIA didn't spirit him away first, of course.

Turned out he had been a CIA operative in a previous incarnation, hence their interest. He'd dropped off their radar when he was deep undercover and was suspected of turning bad. Going to the other side where he'd murdered and tortured for money. But he was supposedly retired from that life. If it wasn't for his apparently unquenchable bloodthirsty streak he might never have been found at all. Yet for all of his suspected crimes, despite the efforts of the CIA, there was only one for which sufficient evidence existed to get him locked away. That crime was one of his recent murders on Oahu, and that evidence hinged on the testimony of Henshall's ex-girlfriend. And they had only secured _that_ because of Danny's way with words and endless charm. The blond detective has talked her into it, pure and simple.

Steve had serious doubts about his involvement though. Never make assumptions- follow the evidence. Danny had drummed that into him often enough. The MO _was_ wrong for Henshall and, after all, they had pissed off a whole catalog of people through the years. Maybe Danny hadn't been interrogated at all. Maybe it was simple, sick revenge by some random bad guy from their past for some perceived slight.

Now, for all Steve wanted to stay exactly where he was, he itched for action. He couldn't wave that magic wand and fix Danny, but he could get the person who had done this to him. He _would_ get them.

The team were on top of the investigation while sentiment kept him where he was for longer than he perhaps should have been, Steve trusted them on that. They would be asking the right questions of the right people. Between that, and the forensic results they would surely get back from the samples taken from Danny's body, from his home, from the roadside where he'd been dumped… they would find their guy, be it Henshall or someone entirely different.

Whoever had hurt Danny like this, Steve wanted to tear him limb from limb one tiny piece at a time. Make him scream like Danny must have screamed when his arm was broken, when the fingers of his left hand were bent back until they snapped.

They would get him. And when they got their break, Steve would be right there leading the team like he always did. He would make himself leave Danny's side when the time was right.

Squeezing out the cloth over one of the basins again, Steve sat back to survey his handiwork. Danny looked better, he decided. Cleaner. His hair was a mess though- Steve would need to fix it so it was more the way Danny liked.

He dried and covered his partner, then ran his fingers through the damp blond mop with a sigh. His gaze came to a rest on Danny's closed eyes. There was an aching, hollow feeling in his gut that he couldn't shake, and it grew and grew whenever he paused, whenever his mind wasn't _busy_. It grew and threatened to morph into terror and heart-rending grief. It grew now, because he needed those eyes to open. He needed to see the intelligent clear blue gaze again. He needed to hear the quick, scathing wit.

He gritted his teeth, pushed the hollow feeling back down, then pulled the comb out of the bag of Danny's stuff Chin had brought and started on his next self-appointed task.

"You're going to be fine," he said decisively as he teased the blond hair into place. "You're gonna wake up, you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be totally horrified about the fact I gave you a bed bath and you're gonna yell at me. We'll get you patched up and drink some beer, then go chase bad guys together again. I'll even let you drive, you hear me? I promise."

Steve paused, staring down at his partner's unresponsive features. He wasn't going to cry. He refused to. Danny _would_ be fine, therefore there was no need to get upset.

"I know you're still in there, Danno. The doctors are pretty non-committal right now, but I _know_ you," he murmured softly. "I wish I could let you know you're safe though. I know it can be confusing when you're out of it and you've been through hell. It feels like you're still there, re-living it over and over. You've always been there for me when I've felt like that, you've always made the difference. Jesus, Danny, I hope it's not like that for you right now. It's over, it is. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't with you when you needed me. I'm _sorry_. I should have had your back. Wherever you are, buddy, come back, okay? Come home."

Save for the regular hiss as the ventilator pushed air into Danny's lungs and the steady beeping of the heart monitor, there was no response.

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Chapter 3

**Good grief, I think that's the longest I've ever left between posting chapters! I can only apologize. Real life is being disturbingly complicated at the moment and not in a good way. I'd love to say the rest is going to follow right on because it IS done bar the fiddling, but that ain't how things have been going!**

 **Annnyhoo… here is ch3, which actually might be really, really dull to some, now I think about it. I did something resembling an actual plot, for once. Ech.**

 **Warnings- touch of torture. Swearing.**

CHAPTER 3

 _Danny was trembling, wet breaths rasping in his throat. He had to get away. He had to escape. But the ropes were tight and the container was dark and terrifying and he had no idea where he was. He heard the metal door creak open again behind him, a widening beam of light signifying the return of the man who had him and the impending resumption of hell._

 _"Tell me. Now."_

 _Reflexively, he shook his head at the words. His movements had become slow and weak._

 _With a cold smile, the man reached for Danny's hand where it sat bound tightly to the arm of the chair. Slow and methodical, he took hold of a finger and bent it back… until it gave. Danny tried not to scream, tried not to let the bastard see how much it hurt, but the tears of pain were already leaking from his eyes before the man started work on the next finger. And the next._

 _When the guy changed tack minutes later and struck Danny's forearm with a hammer, there was no concealing his agony any more._

 _As he reached the edge of consciousness, his own screams ringing in his ears, reality abruptly folded around him. For a wonderful moment he thought he heard Steve's voice, saw slate blue eyes darkened with concern, felt a big hand grip on his arm so, so gently… but the mirage faded away, eclipsed by his own suffering._

 _Breaths coming as strangled sobs, Danny moved his lips in a silent prayer. "Steve… you've gotta come. I need you, I need you, I need you. Where are you, huh? Please!"_

…

 _It wasn't Henshall_. Steve was so damn sure of it. The more he thought about it- and he was thinking about it _a lot_ \- the more certain he became.

Three hours had passed since Max had left and every moment of those three hours had sucked with a vengeance. Rachel and Gracie were due in again shortly, their first visit having been brief but gut-wrenching. Grace had wept silently for ten long minutes, refusing to be comforted by either Steve or her mother, before finally breaking down altogether and allowing the two of them to embrace her tight between them as she sobbed. Steve had felt her anguish as though it were his own.

As a general rule, Steve pretty much hated Rachel for the jaw-dropping stunts she'd pulled on Danny through the years, but all kudos to the woman- she'd kept it together and had known exactly what to say to her daughter once the girl had calmed down enough to take in her words. She'd told Grace with absolute confidence that her Danno would be fine, that his body just needed rest and he'd wake up in a few days and be the same grumpy old Danno they all loved.

And, as his eyes had met those of the woman who had broken Danny's heart repeatedly through the years, he'd realized her message was for him too.

 _Be strong. He'll be okay. He always is_.

He'd ducked his head, fast, burying his face in Grace's soft hair.

Mother and daughter had eventually departed, precautionary HPD escort in tow, for air, and food, and to check on Charlie and Stan. They left Steve slumped in the hard plastic chair beside Danny's bed, feeling even more hollow and sick than he had before in the wake of the hard-core emotional onslaught.

He hadn't moved since. He rubbed tired eyes with the back of his hand, then returned his gaze to his injured partner. Danny's eyes were open, a mere sliver of blue shining out from the swollen flesh.

It wasn't the first time. It had excited the hell out of Steve to start with… but that gaze was empty. Dull and unfocused. "Don't read too much into it, okay?" the doctor had told him, her own eyes oozing sympathy in a way that made Steve's blood run cold. "We see this a lot. This isn't him coming round. He's still not reacting to stimuli. He's not aware. This… it's not a positive sign but it's not negative either. It's normal. Be patient, okay? Give him time." The doctor had continued speaking gently to him, explaining things about coma scales and vegetative states to him that he already knew… but he was barely listening anymore.

Stomach twisting mercilessly, he'd nodded brusquely along to her well-meaning words, furious with himself because he'd _known_ that. He should have remembered that anyway. His pretty respectable medical knowledge appeared to be a little skewed where it came to the man who'd become the single most important person in his life somewhere along the way. He'd just hoped….

As he looked into those blank eyes again now, he forced an encouraging smile just in case, somehow, his partner could see him. He opened his mouth to speak to him like the doctors had suggested, but a lump rose in his throat faster than the words could come out and he clamped his jaw shut.

He shook his head, rubbed his eyes again. The whole situation was a complete and total mess. Someone would have pay dearly. But who?

God, he hoped he wasn't wrong about Henshall. He genuinely didn't believe this was the work of the former CIA man- it was way too sloppy. But if, somehow, he was wrong, if Henshall _had_ taken Danny… for all it pained Steve horribly to admit it to himself, the chances were Agent Franks was _right._ The chances were that he would have been able to break Danny, and that was the reason his partner had been spared the bullet to the head and gifted a slim chance of survival.

Danny was tough, but Henshall was a professional and the CIA would have taught him to extract information from the most highly-trained of foes. Even if the physical torment hadn't pushed the blond man over the edge, who knew what threats Henshall would have used? To Danny's family, his friends. Nothing would have been out of bounds.

 _No one_ could be expected to resist that kind of treatment, not Danny, not Steve. No one. Everyone had their breaking point and men like Henshall were _trained_ to find it.

But that wouldn't matter to Danny. If it _had_ been Henshall, if Danny _had_ broken and spilled his secrets, if he ever woke up he would be devastated. His confidence would be destroyed. He'd feel guilty as sin and completely humiliated. It would make what could be a challenging recovery anyway a million times harder.

It would be so much better if Danny was the victim of some run-of-the-mill idiot, who'd had their fun for whatever reason, then dumped him. They probably figured he'd die, the mess they had made of him.

Steve ducked his head down, cursing under his breath. God this was hard.

But no, it _wasn't_ Henshall. Why would be break his MO? Irrespective of empty promises he might have made to Danny while he was trying to extract the information, why the hell would he dump the detective, _alive_ , at the side of a highway _covered in forensic evidence_. There was an easy answer; he wouldn't. He wouldn't, therefore _it wasn't him_. It was an _amateur_ job. Yet the CIA were running in circles assuming it was him, no doubt tying up HPD and Five-0 themselves with their own stupid agenda, so _no one_ was properly focused on finding the real culprit.

Who else could it be? The list of people who would like to hurt Danny was appropriately long for someone who had been as good a cop as he was for the best part of two decades. It would take work to narrow down the field.

Steve huffed out a long breath then reached out and touched Danny's arm for the thousandth time, staring into those vacant blue eyes. He longed for those eyes to focus, to look at him. For those lips to move, to speak, to _tell_ him what had really happened. But Danny couldn't do that.

 _So go work it out, you total doofus._

It was an invention of his mind, of course, but he heard the words like Danny had spoken out loud and it was as though they ignited a fire inside him. His numbed thoughts had been looping in circles since this had happened, but that simple sentence drop-kicked him solidly back onto a straight path and everything finally became crystal clear.

He had to go. Now. He had to get the bastard who had done this. And he had to prove Franks wrong in _every_ way. Steve couldn't fix Danny's body, couldn't stop his damned smart-ass brain from swelling inside his skull… but this he _could_ do. He could catch the right guy, he could prove Danny hadn't broken and betrayed that witness. This was _his_ way of making things right.

And, he realized, he wanted to get all that done _before_ Danny woke up. He didn't want his best friend coming round to accusations and government-sponsored interrogations. He should have nothing to worry about but getting well.

He almost smiled as he heard Danny's long-suffering voice again. _You really do have a superhero complex, don't you babe? You don't_ _have to fix everything! And anyway, you have a team, it's not just up to you! How many times I gotta tell you, it is_ not _your job to save the day every single time. You know that, right?_

He took a deep breath then stood up, leaning forwards to press a soft kiss to Danny's forehead. "Yeah, maybe, but I have to do my best when it's _you_ , don't I partner?" he whispered against the bruised skin. "I'll be back, okay? HPD are right outside and Rachel and Grace are coming to see you in an hour or so anyway. I don't want to leave you alone but I have to go catch the bad guy. I love you buddy, I'll be back, I promise."

…..

When Steve appeared at the Palace, the team gathered around the tech table to brief him like they would do with any other case, which felt all kinds of strange. He was damn grateful they read him well enough not to ask about Danny. He would have told them if there had been any change, after all, and his iron-clad façade was way too flimsy to allow for pointless discussion of everyone's respective feelings and fears.

The atmosphere was electric with emotion-filled tension.

Steve focused intently on the list of names on the second screen above them, eyes studiously avoiding the first screen, where an image of Danny was inevitably displayed.

"CIA are still convinced it was Henshall," Lou was saying, voice low and deadly serious. "They've got no closer to tracking the guy down but their profiler is convinced he won't leave the island until his ex-girlfriend is six feet under. They've moved her to another safehouse, but Franks has been on the phone bitching about the fact that Five-0 know where _all_ the CIA safehouses are on Oahu. He thinks Danny will have given up _all_ the locations, not just the one you guys delivered her to. He's making arrangements to fly her off the island in the next few hours."

Steve flared his nostrils, flexing his hands into fists. "Look, there is _no way_ …"

But Lou held up his hand to stop him. "We _know._ We don't think it was Henshall either, Steve. It's bullshit, it doesn't fit, it doesn't make sense. We've got your back, we've got Danny's back. The CIA might be chasing their tails but we ain't- we're busy investigating like actual professional cops. Look," he said, pointing at the names on the screen. "We've been going through our old cases, and Danny's from New Jersey too, checking on recent prison releases. We've even got Joe White involved. He's reaching out to old contacts for intel that would suggest any of the plethora of multi-national people we've managed to piss off might be on Oahu. This is our shortlist from all of that so far. Okay?"

Steve nodded brusquely, then cracked a watery smile. He should have known better. He really had chosen his team well. "Thanks. Thanks guys, I mean it." He sniffed, biting down hard on his lip to keep the tenuous grip he had on his composure. "Okay, tell me what else we have."

Chin's hands danced across the tech table and brought up a photo of a familiar house that made Steve's stomach clench. "CSI have confirmed Danny was taken from his home," the big man said. "It was a professional job. They can't say how our perps got in, but it looks like Danny was asleep in bed when it happened. They found traces of chloroform on his pillow. Chances are he was knocked out before he could even react. The rest of the house was clean. HPD have checked with his neighbors, but they didn't see or hear anything suspicious."

Steve cleared his throat, trying not to think how a professional job like that would require the type of skill set someone like Henshall would possess. "Okay. What about the guy who found Danny at the side of the road? You track him down yet?"

"Nope," Kono admitted with a sigh. "The 911 call was made from a burner. It was recorded but voice recognition hasn't come up with a match. It's not Henshall anyway. It's a male, local accent, but that's all we can say right now."

"What about the vehicles involved?" Steve queried, frowning hard. "There could be two, right? Whoever made the call plus whoever dumped him. Unless they were one and the same person, of course."

She nodded, flicking through to another image on the big screen. "CSI have identified several sets of tire treads at the side of the road. These are the freshest, other than those made by the ambulance. They were made by a larger vehicle, probably a pick up or a van. Its tires were pretty worn and there's a distinctive notch on one. It shouldn't be hard to positively ID the vehicle if we find it."

Chin chimed in. "Unfortunately there are no cameras on that stretch of highway so, as a starting point, we've made a list of vehicles that were picked up on cameras in the general area over the couple of hours before Danny was picked up by EMTs. His doctor's sure he couldn't have been there longer than that or he…." He stopped short, leaving the ' _or he wouldn't have made it'_ thankfully unsaid.

Steve closed his eyes tight as, once more, he was reminded just how close it had been. How close it still was. Danny's body had been put through too much.

Kono jumped in, mercifully carrying on as her teammates momentarily wavered. "HPD are working their way through the registered owners of the vehicles on the list, interviewing them and taking routine samples. They're eliminating them one at a time. Duke's also got teams out canvassing the rest of Danny's neighborhood, and the houses and businesses along the Kunia Road. Someone may have seen _something_."

"Okay. Good. What about forensics? We got anything back yet?" Steve glanced up at the clock as he spoke, fully aware of the long turn-around some of these things could take.

"Yes, we do! Max called with some preliminary results," Lou responded. "And listen to this… it looks like _two_ people may have been involved. He extracted _two_ separate DNA profiles from the samples he took from Danny's body- he's put them in the system to check for matches. One came from blood and skin beneath the fingernails of Danny's right hand- he musta got the chance to scratch one of the bastards at some stage."

Steve nodded brusquely, refusing to let his mind picture the desperate scene that conjured. Two people! Henshall always worked alone. That was good.

"Do you think he scratched his attacker on purpose so we'd know who did this to him?"

Steve turned abruptly to stare at Kono as she spoke. He took in the slight quiver of her lower lip, the shine in her eye. She was finding this every bit as hard as he was. He nodded decisively, no doubt in his mind. "I'm sure of it. Danny thinks like a cop the whole time. And he's hardly a scratcher, is he? Danny _punches_ when he's cornered. Or pissed. He doesn't scratch."

He snorted softly, sub-consciously rubbing the side of his jaw right where it had once felt the impact of some New Jersey fury. Yeah, it was a good call. It was like Danny had left a message for them. DNA under his nails, scratch marks on the bad guy. Smart. Really, really smart. Very Danny.

Those emotions were knocking at the door again and Steve took a moment, blew out a long, calming breath before he went on. "What about the second profile?"

"That came from one of the samples Max swabbed from Danny's face. His right cheek." Lou hesitated for a moment before continuing. "It's saliva, apparently."

"Saliva?" Steve looked at him in horror. "The second guy _spat_ on him?" His hackles went up at the very notion, even with the back-drop of everything else that had been done to his partner.

Lou shrugged helplessly, holding Steve's gaze. "I don't know, man. I don't know. Seems like it."

"Other than that," Chin interjected, "there was soil on the knees of Danny's pants and the palm of his uninjured hand. It looks darker than the ground he was found on. Max has sent samples to a contact at the local university- we should hear back soon. Hopefully the results will narrow down where he might have been before he was dumped."

"Max also recovered several tiny flecks of dark blue paint in the sample that he combed from Danny's hair," Kono added. "Eric's had a look at them. The paint is lead-based, a mix used in the early to late 1980's and not since, and there are fragments of corroded metal adhered to the flakes. Eric's thinking outdoor metalwork. Maybe a door, or a sheeted metal structure. Something that's in poor condition. But that's it. That's all we've got so far.

Steve nodded at her, then Lou, then Chin, in grateful acknowledgement. They had plenty to work on, and everything was being done by the book for once, systematic and thorough. Danny would be proud.

"How's Eric holding up?" he thought to ask.

Kono sighed worriedly. "He's keeping it together, Steve. Trying not to think about it, focusing on the case, same as the rest of us." She looked at him searchingly. "What about you? How you doing."

All eyes were on him, and Steve felt his face redden. "I'm _fine_ ," he snorted. Then his mouth just kept going, kept meandering like it had a mind of its own _._ "I mean, he's gonna be okay, right? So why wouldn't I be fine?! It's just… it's _Danny._ You know? It just shouldn't be Danny. This sort of shit happens to _me_! It's meant to be me! I don't have kids, I don't have this huge family to worry about me. And I'm trained for it! I know Danny's a tough guy, but…. He was _tortured_! _Danny_ was _tortured_. I should have been there, I should have…."

His voice was cracking by the time he managed to engage the brakes and shut the hell up. He looked up at his team-mates through blurred vision.

"For Christ's sake, McGarrett," Lou growled, dark eyes shining with irritation. He pointed an emphatic finger in Steve's general direction and stabbed at the air with it, punctuating his words. "I'll just stop you right there. You think the guy who's been your partner and your freaking best friend for seven long-ass years wished it was you instead of him? Not a snowball's chance in hell! That man worries himself sick about you at the best of times, how he hasn't given himself a coronary I have no idea!"

The big man took a step closer to Steve and clamped a huge hand on his shoulder. "You _cannot_ feel guilty about this," he said in a softer voice. "We _cannot_ all watch each other 24 hours a day. Shit happens. We just have to be there for each other when it does, and do the right thing and guess what- that's what we're doing right now. And _yes_ he'll be fine. Damn right he will! We're all going to anything and everything we have to do to _make_ _sure_ he's fine. _All_ of us."

Steve glanced around at the earnest faces of the people who had become his family. He nodded brusquely, swiping angrily at his face as he forcibly stuffed his guilt deep down inside for later. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Thank you. You're right."

As Lou released his shoulder, gave it a solid pat and stepped back, Steve finally allowed himself to look at the image of Danny on the big screen. It was from his file, no doubt taken on his first day in HPD. His expression was stony and guarded, but Steve could see the resignation, the bone-deep sadness radiating from the recently divorced and uprooted man. They should have updated the damn photo now he was Five-0 and he had a home and a family here. Now he was begrudgingly happy.

The sound of a cell ringing jerked him back to reality.

Chin pulled his phone out of his pocket. "It's Max," he said, placing the cell down on the smart table and activating the loudspeaker.

"Max? It's Steve. Chin, Lou and Kono are here too. Talk to us, buddy."

"Commander McGarrett," came the calm, measured voice of their talented ME. "My apologies for the delay, but I have some results for you. Unfortunately, one of the two DNA profiles I retrieved from the samples we took earlier today has no corresponding match on any accessible law-enforcement databases. The saliva must in fact have derived from an individual who has not previously fallen foul of the legal system. However, we do have a positive match for the other sample."

There was silence on the line for several seconds and Steve's skin prickled. "Max," he pushed. "Whose blood was under Danny's nails?"

"Commander… Steve," came the regretful reply, "I'm afraid the second DNA profile is a 100% match to former CIA agent Aubrey Henshall."

TO BE CONTINUED

 **Hrmmmm. Let me know what you thought of that one then! I think.**


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